


don't spit on my cupcake and tell me it's frosting

by crackers4jenn



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-25 17:45:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17125901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackers4jenn/pseuds/crackers4jenn
Summary: Set in an imaginary season 2. Britta gets a new love interest. Annie meddles. There's a trial.





	don't spit on my cupcake and tell me it's frosting

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on livejournal in July of 2010.

The whole thing began the second week of school.

Britta, put off by the sudden group harmony after everyone had mostly spent the entire summer ignoring each other, save the occasional noncommittal text message, started taking her lunch to the quad. And, yeah, maybe that choice was propelled into action by Jeff and Annie's new found googly-eyes, but whatever. She wasn't bitter. She wasn't jealous. She just so happened to be someone who liked their meals minus the saccharine overload.

That's where she met Fago.

Tall, gorgeous, dark-haired Fago, who didn't drive a douchemobile, wasn't a jerk, and didn't have a so-called thing for any of her nineteen-year old friends.

(So, maybe she was a little bitter.)

He dressed like Greendale co-existed as a ski lounge, like he was ready to hit the slopes should there be any freak snowstorms. She half-expected, that first day she saw him, sitting down with an open textbook near Vaughn's old hippie tree, that he carried poles and skis in his backpack.

The first time he talked to her, she hardly blinked up at him. Which probably was a little bitchy, but considering how her every relationship had thus far played out amongst the Greendale backdrop, she really had no incentive for a sophomore year repeat.

But then he spoke. And he'd had this unplaceable accent. One that dragged, all European-sounding, but there was also this slight British lilt. And his lips were chapped, and she kind of liked that. 

It wasn't long before the rest of the group found out about him. Because, well. Shirley.

She snuck up on Britta that first day, after that first encounter, with this worrisome twinkle in her eyes and helium in her voice.

"New friend?" she said, but in a way that meant, _wink-wink-nudge-nudge. Britta's got herself a new man!_

Britta had clutched her books close to her chest and offered up a half-assed, skirting answer.

"His name's Fago."

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh!" 

Shirley practically skipped away, eyes lit up with a new kind of merriment. Because now. Now there was a name. And boy-oh-boy, didn't that mean Britta was _fated_ for him?!

Over the next couple of weeks, Britta was so wrapped up in her lunchtime conversations with Fago (actual intelligent conversations about things like: the comeback of the discman; Kevin Costner and his oil-cleaning machine because SERIOUSLY, when was that going to be the next step in cleaning up the Gulf spill?; impoverished countries; America's growing obsession with groomed and underage Disney stars, etc) -- she was so wrapped up in the excitement of arousing conversation that didn't get interrupted by Pierce belching or Troy snickering over the word "arousing," she didn't notice the ENTIRE GROUP watching her like she was some kind of zoo exhibit.

"He seems okay," Shirley said, peeking through a less leafy spot in the bushes.

Pierce had his binoculars out. "Are you kidding me? He's Tiny Nipples all over again. Look at his head! How does someone have a head that small? Outrageous!"

With a sigh, Jeff reached over and adjusted something on the binoculars.

"Oh," Pierce chuckled, then reported for the sake of all, "He's normal-headed. Never mind."

Annie looked worried. "Should we be spying on Britta like this?" she asked.

And was answered with a chorus of:

"Duh." / "Uh, _absolutely_." / "Why else would I bring my binoculars to school?" / "It's what the Lord wanted."

Aghast and bewildered, everyone stared at Shirley. For obvious reasons.

She clarified with some don't-you-be-judging-me hostility, "I got a message in a dream. _Fago. Fago. Fago_. You tell me what that means, then, me dreaming up that boy and a bunch of cute little yellow-haired babies!"

An irrefutable logic.

But Annie was still frowning. "It just feels... _wrong_. She's our friend!"

Jeff wrapped an unassuming arm around her shoulder, drawing her in close. The rest of the group had their usual reactions:

\- Shirley, still not okay with such an age difference, especially at the heels of having a Jeff/Britta relationship strongly shut down and _HOW_ was that possible when the two were so perfect for one another, resolutely looked the other way.

\- Pierce smacked his lips together and became 1000% creepier, particularly because of the raised thumb of approval he gave that never got acknowledged yet somehow lingered in memory.

\- Troy and Abed were too wrapped up in a movie plot [Bush Lurkers: The Tree That Fought Back] to really notice or care.

"And as her friend," Jeff told Annie, low and a little throaty, just because, "we're entitled to stalk and judge. That's friendship 101, Annie."

She seemed ready to argue. To hit him with a real quote on friendship, and how you didn't invade people's privacy by lurking like a bunch of perverts behind a freakishly bulky bush. But Jeff did the eyes-and-lips thing, teasing her, and her reservation melted away. 

"Fine!" she said, breathing it out mostly as compliance.

 

***

 

Annie and Shirley, with great purpose, dropped beside a Fago-less Britta at lunch the next day, filling up the entire bench with backpacks and giant purses.

"Heyyyyyy, guys?" Britta said, already wary. Because, duh.

Shirley leaned far back, glancing every which way. 

"Where's that boyfriend of yours?"

Britta's eyes bulged. Like she was choking, probably on horror, she said, "God, don't use that word. Fago's _NOT_ my boyfriend."

Annie met Shirley's eyes--some secret code passed between them, evident only in the sudden way their gazes hardened, then softened once again--and said, full of approval, "He seems nice!"

That's when Britta's suspicion was upped to full-out paranoia.

"That's because he is," she said, reluctant to even give that information up, because, seriously, what devious angle were they playing at here? 

Shirley nodded with big, rounded eyes, her purse held close in some kind of death clutch. "Mmhm!"

"Alright. What's up?" Britta's skepticism was passed between the two ladies flanking her. "Why're you two all... buttering me up for information, like I'm some kinda savory gossip roll?"

Annie's face fell into innocence. "We're not!"

"Yeah, Britta, you sound defensive. You sure you're not covering up for any feelings you may be experiencing for, oh, anyone in particular?"

Seriously? 

"Yeah, _Britta_. Maybe someone you have a... _crush_ on?"

Because this was fifth grade, apparently. And who said you couldn't hold a conversation with a guy without wanting to jump his bones? Because every batted eyelash must be some Morse code sent out: _do me! do me! do me!_ It can't just mean, you know. Hey. I have something in my eye. Don't mind me. No, it has to MEAN something.

Like it was absurd, Britta said, "I don't have a _crush._ That word's so neandrathalic, anyway. A crush. Like, what, my feelings are so strong, I want to swing my club around and bash into things? Give me a break," she scoffed.

Annie and Shirley were eyeballing her in that way that usually meant, _Oh dear, the Brittatron 3000 has risen again. Verbal responses do not compute as actual feminine reactions._

"Oh!" Shirley suddenly squealed, peering behind them. "There he is!"

Britta nearly pulled a muscle trying to catch a glimpse.

"A-HA." 

It was Shirley's smug, you-just-got-tricked-with-good-natured-lying declaration, making Britta soften and sigh and squeeze out a defeated, "Alright! So maybe I like Fago a little."

"I knew it!" Shirley barked, then said, much sweeter, "Good for you!"

Annie had her hands clutched to her chest, this disgusting wet gleam in her eye. "Oh, Britta! This is so--"

"Unless the next words out of your mouth are _pathetic_ and _degrading_ , I don't want to hear it." Britta gathered her books and started to stand. "Guys, please. Don't make this into some big THING. Okay? This information doesn't go beyond us."

Shirley mimed zipping her lips, nodding her head enthusiastically.

Britta's eyes flickered over to Annie, who, of course, looked ready to argue. 

" _Annie_ ," she admonished.

"FINE," Annie eventually breathed out, slumping against the booth. 

 

***

 

Two days later, Britta slinked her way into their study room with laser-like focus. Annie was too busy laughing it up with Jeff, the two of them huddled close together, lost in some relationship bubble oblivious to the outside world, to catch just how pissed she was.

Until her books were dropped onto the table. Loudly.

Annie's eyes grew round. Confused, but clueless.

Shirley said, "Tough morning?" as some form of commiseration, before telling everyone, "Tell me about it. Elijah thought it'd be cute to see what Jordan looked like with half his face colored like Spongebog Squarepants, so now I have--"

"How could you?" 

Shirley faltered, wide-eyed now too. Britta was still staring at Annie.

Annie smiled nervously. "Excuse me?" 

"I _told_ you not to say anything."

Annie's mouth dropped open and stayed that way. With the entire group staring her down, everyone suddenly super interested in this showdown, she didn't know how to respond.

Jeff held up calming hands. "We're all adults here. I think we can handle whatever's going on with--"

"You just had to go and ruin it in your cutesy, Disney tween, Annie-way, didn't you?"

"--outrageous slander, _what_ are you talking about?" Jeff shot at Britta.

Britta sank into her seat, deadly calm. Gaze still leveled ahead.

"Ask Annie."

Every set of eyes in the room landed on Annie, whose face grew red. Quietly, like she was trying to keep it just between her and Britta, she murmured, way too innocently, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, please. Drop the doe eyes, Bambi. You talked to Fago."

"What?" Annie squeaked.

"And don't try to deny it. This whole thing has _Edison_ written all over it."

"Annie dropped the what now?" said Pierce, who was having trouble hearing. "Is this a prison thing?"

Troy shot Pierce a side-glare.

Abed's eyes had gone blank. He was lost to the sitcom in his head. "Group turmoil that threatens to break up the ensemble," he said, summing things up with a handy synopsis. "Your typical second season plot, since the first season was spent bonding the characters so that a twist like this would really affect the audience."

"I wish this was the Troy Springer show," Troy breathed out wistfully. "That's like Jerry Springer, except people would call out 'TR-OY! TR-OY! TR-OY!' and crazy dudes would get into fights all the time, but I'd be like, YO, act civilized on the Troy Springer show!"

Abed's eyes narrowed into slits. He went on, oblivious to Troy's interruption, "There should be a trial."

Jeff said, "Yeah, well, out here in the real world where life _isn't_ scripted, I say we DON'T have a trial. This isn't Three's Company."

But Abed wouldn't let it drop. "If the group splits up, we have to decide whose side we're on. Annie's or Britta's."

"That's ridiculous, the group's NOT splitting up," Jeff tried, but already Shirley's eyes were nervously flicking around the room, Pierce looked to be measuring cup sizes with his hands, whatever THAT was about, and Troy seemed more lost than usual.

"That causes a major rift that spans episodes, but the real problem is that even though things get resolved, the damage is already done. Balance, harmony, camaraderie. All disassembled. That's why we need a trial. To settle this, old school."

"I agree with Abed," Shirley was the first to say, nodding with big, rounded eyes. "Not about all that TV hocus-pocus, but we need to settle this like a family. Who go on trial."

Britta shrugged. "I'm in."

"WHAT?!" Jeff gaped. "How could you agree to this, it's CRAZY talk."

Then Annie hoisted her chin up high and said, "I'm in," with her eyes locked on Britta's.

 

***

 

"You can't _defend_ her," Britta said to Jeff, all puffed up and in a huff.

"Why not?"

"Uh, a) she's your girlfriend, dumbass. b) I'm the ex-roll in the sheets. How do I know you won't use past discretion against me as some kind of lawyer-y, evidential... circumstances? Douchebag."

"Britta!" Annie gasped, mouth all a'gape. She flung her arms across her chest in a show of Jeff-related solidarity, while Britta's comeback came in the form of a scoff.

"She _does_ have a point," piped up Troy, who then shrunk under the glare Annie shot at him.

Abed told it like it was: "There's a conflict of interest."

"I'm sure Jeff will be totally noble," Annie insisted, while everyone else groaned and rolled their eyes and ignored Jeff's so-suck-on-that smirk. "What?" wondered Annie, confused with the group's sudden ambivalence, because normally weren't they a little more rousing and supportive? 

"I think, Annie," Shirley said, tittering just so, "we're all just a little uncomfortable with the idea of... _this_."

'This' was a gesture towards Jeff and Annie, whose eyes bugged.

" _This_ ," she crazy-shouted, "is none of your business! What Jeff and I decide to do outside of this room, that's between the two of us. And if anyone has a problem with it, well, there are preventative methods. Close your eyes! Or stick your fingers in your ears. Or, hey, here's a crazy idea: GROW UP."

A stifling silence passed through.

Then: 

"I think Shirley was talking about Jeff being your creepy lawyer-slash-boyfriend," Britta drawled.

While Annie drew back in embarrassment, Jeff sighed and said, "Guys, you making this into a big deal is making this a big deal. It's not. From your perspective, sure. I'm the disgustingly awesome boyfriend sticking up for his hot girlfriend. But you're missing the real reason I want to defend Annie. Because Britta is _wrong_."

"Ughhhh," said Britta.

Abed told him, "You're jumping the gun, Jeff."

"That's Abed-talk for 'quit making group assumptions'," Troy said, with some slight hostility.

Pierce, though, having been unusually silent, rumbled out, "I decree Jeff being Annie's douchebag lawyer: non-conflict."

It ended up being consent enough.

 

***

 

_The next day..._

Jeff slammed his hands onto the table. 

"Objection!" he cried, full-on Authoritative Voice, the kind that used to get him fancy Italian faucets back when that sort of thing seemed important. Now he'd settle on Sears appliances, just so long as they came at a reasonable price.

Pierce, who was dressed appropriately in judicial robes, startled. They were three minutes in.

Britta glowered and said, " _Please_ , you can't object that."

"I can, and I did. Judge Hawthorne?" He directed his opposition at Pierce, who grew grave under the scrutiny. 

Troy, squeezed in next to both Abed and Shirley, for they were serving as the impartial jury, let out an appreciative, slightly rattled breath. 

All solemnly, hyped up on power, Pierce said, "Sustained."

Jeff smirked, while Britta upped her glower to a glare. 

"Whatever," she huffed before honing in on Annie. Who sat at the head of the table opposite Pierce, officially on trial for alleged (direct quote) "sticking her great, big Bambi eyes where they don't belong" (end quote.)

"Annie," Britta called out, taking her cue from Law and Order reruns. With calculated steps, she walked around Annie, hands locked behind her back, her face free of all emotion. 

Annie stiffened and stared straight ahead. 

"Since I can't raise the question of how you stole not one, but two ex-love interests from me--"

"I didn't _steal_ anyone," Annie defended, if not a little lamely. 

"Really? You want to argue that?"

Jeff, who was beside Annie, leaned over and said, in a voice just this side of a whisper, "You really want to be quiet right now."

Because she trusted him, she did as told, only throwing some of her usual petulance around. 

"Annie," Britta repeated, stopping only a matter of inches beside her. Her hands swung out in front of her, then clasped. "Is it true you knew that I liked Fago?"

Annie's smile was automatic but hesitant. "Well, _yeah._ You told us--" Here, she gestured at Shirley, who smiled and nodded her encouragement, "that you liked him. You specifically used the words, 'I like Fago', in that order."

Like this was crucial, Britta leaned in crazy close to Annie and cried, "HAH! So you _knew_ I liked him, and yet you still decided to meddle."

Another, smaller smile. "I don't think I _meddled_."

"Even though I asked you not to. Even though you _agreed_ not to, you went and talked to Fago."

"Yeah, but! He totally likes you, Britta! We started talking about school and Greendale, and one thing lead to another--"

Pulling back, Britta picked up the pacing again. Annie's words faded into pointlessness. 

"Some say," Britta continued, "you have a habit of making other people's business your own."

" _What_?" Annie turned pale. " _Who_ says that?"

Instead of naming names, Britta went eerily silent. But when her eyes strayed over to Troy, who panicked and looked up at the ceiling, it wasn't really all that difficult to figure out who she was talking about.

" _Troy_!" Annie gasped.

"It's TRUE," Troy defended. "Tellin' me things all the time like, _Troy, no one wears their letterman jacket in college!_ and _Troy, thongs are for girls_."

"I was just trying to _help_ you out."

"HELP," Britta parroted, leaning in Annie's face again with her eyes full of accusation, "or meddle?" Britta gestured to Troy. "Maybe he likes to wear that letterman jacket because it makes him feel warm."

"More like _dope_ ," said Troy, lost in some hazy memory of the Good Ol' Days of wearing his jacket.

"Maybe he likes to wear women's underwear because he's in touch with his feminine side."

"Plus they make my butt feel good."

"But now we'll never know," Britta concluded. "Because now it's too late. Now Troy doesn't want to wear his jacket, because ANNIE told him it was stupid."

" _Everyone_ told him it was," here, she paused, reluctant to say the s-word all over again, worried that it would re-offend Troy. She settled for mostly mouthing, barely uttering the word, " _Stupid_." Which, of course, did upset Troy. He hunkered down with a scowl, directing it towards Annie. 

Britta strategically placed herself behind the jury.

"But," she said, "you're not denying that you meddled in the first place, for your own selfish reasons."

Annie shot Jeff a nervous glance, before sputtering, "Yeah, but. It was _one_ time--"

"TWICE," interrupted Troy.

"It's not like I do it all the time! You're making it seem like I'm some neurotic, compulsive buttinsky who gets their rocks off by chronically interfering! That's _not_ me."

Wholly calm and freakishly unnerved, Britta said, "We'll see." To Pierce, "I have no more questions for Annie." It was as Annie released a relieved exhale that Britta tacked on, "But I would like to call another witness to the stand."

Jeff shot to his feet while the rest of the room went reverentially silent. He didn't even get his hearty _Objection!_ in because Pierce, thrilled with all the unfolding drama, stopped him short with an, "Overruled! Can it, hair gel. Call forth the witness!"

While Jeff dropped back into his seat, muttering unpleasantries, Britta placed her hands on Abed's shoulder. He craned his head to look up at her as she announced, with great seriousness, "I call to the stand... Abed Nadir."

 

***

 

After being sworn in (Pierce used one of Annie's Spanish/English dictionary books for the occasion, which had Shirley eyeballing the whole exchange with something like religious-related dread) Abed replaced Annie, who now sat across from the jury.

"True or false," Britta directed at Abed. "You consider yourself an excellent judge of character."

"True."

"True? _Real_ ly. How _interesting_. What makes you such an expert?"

"A specifically honed skill of people-watching, mostly."

"Describe Annie to us."

"Annie's a classic overachiever. She has goals; she sets them; she achieves them. Nothing gets in her way. Like debate."

"What about Annie-and-Troy?"

"At first I thought they'd be a perfect Dawson-and-Joey. That's the Ross-and-Rachel of a younger generation," he explained. "Or," for Pierce's benefit, "Sam-and-Diane."

"What makes you say that?

"Observation. Plus, Annie had all the usual love-struck signs."

"Really?"

"She enrolled in most of his classes; she singled him out for study sessions."

"What about when Troy had a date? He's a good-looking guy. Did Annie ever... interfere?"

"Once. She gave Troy her grandma's courting blanket."

"That hardly seems offensive."

"Then, in the middle of Troy's date with Randi, who Troy told me he thought looked like Jessica Alba if Jessica Alba looked like Randi, Annie came and took her blanket back."

"You know what? That almost sounds like... meddling."

"Yep."

Britta swung a victorious look towards the defense, then said, "I have no more questions for the witness."

"Cool," said Abed, slipping back to his designated spot on the jury. Troy gave him a fist bump. Shirley cooed in a maternal way, proud of Abed for having survived the witness stand.

While Britta settled back into her seat, looking all kinds of smug with a smirk that was a little too self-gratifying, Jeff got to his feet, only sparing Britta a brief pay-attention-the-grown-up-is-about-to-talk glance. 

He took his time, thinking things over while he paced behind a grim-faced Annie. Eventually he came to a stop over near the poster board, his fingers tented thoughtfully beneath his chin. A robot stared back at him from one of the fliers, the words 'racism does not compute' printed in big, bolded letters.

"Annie's the worst," he declared.

Annie literally choked on air while everyone else traded scandalized glances with each other. Shirley seemed ready to haul herself across the table to tackle him down.

Jeff continued, "That's Britta's entire argument. That Annie," he pointed his tented fingers at Annie (doe-eyed, of course, with a hint of the lip quiver), "is _the worst_. She meddles. She weirdly cares about her friends."

Britta scoffed, while Annie, seeing where this was headed, finally began to beam.

"Troy," Jeff called out, starting to circle the table. "When Annie gave you that blanket, what happened?"

With a glare, Troy accused, "She said she hurt her stomach, but _alllll_ this talking has me thinkin' she wasn't really hurt at all." 

"After that."

"Then some _dude_ sang a _song_ about Pierce."

"AFTER that. With, you know. _The girl_."

Troy's eyes glossed over. "Ohhhh. Right. Then the T-Bone got himself some sweet female bump AND grinding."

"Really?" wondered Pierce, chuckling a little. With some pride, he shot off a compliment. "Good for you, Troy!"

Britta let out this throaty exhale. "Seriously? IRRELEVANT," she shouted, flapping her hands around. 

Pierce thought it over before deciding. "Overruled."

"Abed, when you stopped paying attention in Spanish because you decided you wanted to spend a week as Iron Man, who was it that made sure you always had a copy of the notes anyway?"

"Annie."

"And Shirley. Who was it that did that background check on Sexy Dreadlocks so you knew that maybe his _real_ name should be Sex Offender Dreadlocks?"

"That was Annie."

"Sure, Annie meddles. But you know who else meddled?"

Both Abed and Troy answered at the same time, "Scooby Doo," except Troy's eyes glowed with nostalgia. Abed was pretty straightforward.

"That's right. A beloved gang of do-gooding, moral-having, _celebrated_ cartoon characters. And no one but the villain ever thought what they were doing was wrong."

While the group started to titter with agreement and praise, Britta shot to her feet.

"This is a farce!" she cried out, this crazy burst of emotion. The room went silent while she stood there complaining, "All Jeff proved is that Troy did the horizontal-uglies with some girl, and Abed's prone to identity disorders, and that Shirley has a broken creepdar; it doesn't prove that Annie's here-to-help Girl Scout routine isn't annoying!"

The absolute _wrong_ thing to say. 

"Oh, no," breathed out Shirley, disappointed and wearing her most guilt-inducing _how could you? what is wrong with your blackened soul that you could do that?_ face.

Troy scowled, suddenly protective. "Dude. Not cool."

Annie was doing that blinking-really-fast-to-hold-back-the-tears thing, mouth dropped open. "You think," she cried, voice quavering, "I'm annoying?" It was nothing but a high pitched push of breath.

Feeling like crap, Britta sunk back into her seat, nothing but dead weight.

"No," she admitted, sullen, basically the world's worst friend.

"I only wanted to help because of the whole thing with Jeff," Annie wailed, and by then, Britta's face was starting to crumble with actual human emotions.

"I didn't want to be anyone's charity case!" she admitted. It all came unraveling out in a burst of insecurity.

Just like that, Shirley was on her feet. She swooped up and out of her chair, rushing to Britta's side. Abed was roughly pushed out of the way in her mad dash to comfort.

"You were never anyone's charity case!" she insisted, gripping Britta by the hands. "Not that that would be a bad thing because only those with moral intentions take up the cause of charity, but you _weren't_!"

"We love you, Britta!" Annie sobbed.

Then they were all up and hugging, this mass of limbs and hair that was saying things like, "I'm sorry I meddled!" and "Fago really likes me?"

Pierce, who had clearly started to take his role as the group's judge seriously, nervously swayed back and forth, his gavel that was really a banana clutched close. 

Eventually the girls pulled apart, wet-eyed with trails of mascara down their cheeks. Troy pulled a face when he saw their smeared make-up and visibly yanked back, but Shirley gave him a strong, motherly glare to silence his complaints. 

"People of the room," Britta announced, arm looped with Annie's. "I'd like to withdraw my complaints."

"FINALLY," Troy loudly sighed. "I had to be in class twenty minutes ago, and this was taking forever."

"Troy!" Annie shouted. Well, you know. Gasped. "You should have--"

" _Not_ meddled?" His eyes got really round. "Wait, no. That's you!"

Realizing what she was doing, Annie dropped the concern for some chagrin.

Britta glared at Troy, wrapping Annie under a protective clutch. 

"Lay off," she told him in words that came with a hidden OR ELSE disclaimer.

"But! You just! This whole entire!" Troy's sputtering rose in frequency.

Jeff tilted forward and offered up some sage advice. "I'd let it go if I were you."

And because Shirley, Britta, and Annie were all wearing some scary version of their formidable face, Troy did as told.

The whole ordeal promptly forgotten and over with, save Pierce's bitter grumblings and more loudly voiced complaints about a wasted afternoon with a now bruised banana, the group headed out with renewed friendships, a budding romance between Britta and Fago on the rise, and way too much Law and Order on their minds.

" _By October, things had settled down again. I still looked for Boo every time I went by the Radley place_ \--"

"ABED!!!"

"Coming!"

 

***

 

THE END

 

***

 

EPILOGUE, for those who wanted a _little bit_ more Fago.

 

"So," Britta said, fiddling with the cap to her bottle of Vitamin Water. Fago sat beside her, relaxed in a wide, sprawled out recline, his left hand resting at the top of the booth where every so often he flicked playfully at her loose curls.

Jeff, across from Fago, plastered on a pained smiile. "Sooooo."

Beside him, Annie was determined to add something multi-syllable to their thus far stilted conversation that largely consisted of several awkward so-offs. When she had the idea of a lunch date to completely mend things with Britta, uncomfortable silence wasn't what she had in mind.

"So, Fago," she said, making up in pep what the outing so far lacked in participation, "what's been your favorite class so far?"

Britta and Jeff groaned as one.

"No," Jeff was quick to protest, drawing the line, stress wrinkles already sprouting across his forehead. "It's bad enough we're actually here without also having to, you know, TALK about it."

"Seriously, do we really have to talk about SCHOOL, Annie?" Britta fell back against the booth where Fago's fingers tapped a completely casual couple of beats across her bare shoulder. "Just because we're here doesn't mean we have to buy into the idea that we need to embrace this institutionalized way of learning, where guys like Ben Chang shovel hogwash into our brains for a whole year only to be told, YA KNOW WHAT. That didn't actually count. You didn't learn a single thing, _congratulations._ "

"Uh, _yeah_ ," agreed Jeff, voicing some fake enthusiasm to back Britta's strong beliefs. "Rage on, word up. Down with the system." He pumped a lackluster fist, though his careening eyebrows seemed to say _what the hell is going on here?_

Fago gave Annie a leisurely smile and answered, "Favorite class? Cool, cool. Pottery 101. 'Cause I like to see what I'm capable of creating when I'm given this small, cold, wet lump of clay that hasn't been molded by anyone else's hands yet."

Britta beamed at Fago. Annie seemed impressed.

Jeff? Jeff let his head fall back and groaned out, "Uuuuuuugh," before snapping back to with, "I _HATE_ that class."

Britta gave Jeff a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Probably because her eyes were too filled with the rage-daggers she was staring at him, the unspoken being, _why are you ruining this for me, you giant waste of hair care product?!_

Annie apologetically explained, "Jeff had to face a moment of real, emotional growth, just to pass," and somehow it was both endearing and patronizing, as was the way she patted at his hand. "He's still a little bitter."

" _What_? Pfft. No. I hate that class because of its blanket no-Ghosting rule, who cares about _growth_."

"Sometimes, a guy just wants to get his Swayze on," Britta tried joking.

Another silence swept in, heavier and more awkward than before.

"Oh, look," cried Jeff, his voice notched up high, "there's Shirley. Shirley! Over here!"

It was a pathetic attempt at outside diversion, but it was so, so needed.

"Britta-and-Fago, Jeff-and-Annie!" Shirley greeted, fully taking in the scenario laid out before her. How cute; a double date! Sure, it was rude of them not to invite the rest of the group, but Shirley could appreciate the romantic seeds that were being planted.

"What's up?" wondered Britta, trying hard not to outwardly glow like some pathetically moon-eyed schoolgirl, even though Fago kept knocking knees with her.

Shirley opened her mouth. Then Pierce came up and clamped an arm around her shoulder, squeezing her close against him. Completely missing her expression of intense dislike, he said, "Well, well, what do we have here! A couple of couples on a date. In my time--"

"AAAAH," complained Troy, coming up from the other side of the table. "No one ever cares about your time, Pierce!"

"Hogwash! The world reveres any story that starts off with the classic line of ' _In my time_.' It's fact. It's truth. It's cement."

"Uh, no. The world HATES those kind of stories. And no one says 'hogwash' any more either."

"Oh, well excuse me! I didn't know I was talking to the leading expert on modern culture. This is just like you to be streets behind--"

" _YOU'RE_ streets behind!"

"I think I'd know if I was streets behind! Coined the phrase myself," Pierce darkly grumbled.

"Hee _eee_ y," tried Britta. "You know what's definitely not streets behind? You guys standing way over there!" She pointed to the corner of the dining hall geographically farthest away from where everyone was currently gathered.

Shirley glimpsed that way and back. "Nuh-uh. No thanks. S.O.D. is over there. That's 'Sex Offender Dreadlocks', but shortened so it's all cute and mysterious, like we've got our very own group lingo."

Pierce's platonic hold on Shirley tightened into something far more creepy. "I'll keep you protected! Like a gloved penis. Get it?" he wheezed.

Shirley flung Pierce's arm off of her. "You need to start worrying about your own protection," she warned.

"Jeff's a pretty cool bodyguard," said Abed, who'd stealthily materialized behind Troy. "Mostly symbolically. In reality, it'd make more sense to seek out someone with more influence. Like Star Burns."

"Hey!" Troy cried out. "Is that chicken fingers I'm hearing?"

Sure enough, one glance over confirmed that it was, in fact, chicken fingers that were now being served. And to a line that was so small, it didn't even drag around the corner like most chicken finger days.

Thus the group promptly up and left, headed towards the guarantee of a satisfying lunch, their troubles and double-date commitments forgotten and abandoned.

Everyone, that is, but Britta and Fago, who watched them go, marveling at their hive-like mind put to use to score food.

"So. That's my friends."

Fago leaned forward on his elbows. Dipped his head towards her a little so that all of a sudden, Britta became hyper-aware of him. He smiled, this flirty gleam in his eyes. "I like 'em."

"Good. 'Cause they're family."

***


End file.
